“At least, that’s what the doctor and I have gathered from the way you speak.”
Losing all control of himself, Cottard let out a volley of oaths. “Don’t get excited,” Tarrou said quietly.
“Neither I nor the doctor would dream of reporting you to the police.
What you may have done is no business of ours.
And, anyway, we’ve never had much use for the police.
Come, now! Sit down again.”
Cottard looked at the chair, then hesitantly lowered himself into it.
He heaved a deep sigh.
“It’s something that happened ages ago,” he began. “Somehow they’ve dug it up.
I thought it had all been forgotten.
But somebody started talking, damn him!
They sent for me and told me not to budge till the inquiry was finished.
And I felt pretty sure they’d end up by arresting me.”
“Was it anything serious?” Tarrou asked.
“That depends on what you mean by ‘serious.’
It wasn’t murder, anyhow.”
“Prison or transportation with hard labor?”
Cottard was looking almost abject.
“Well, prison—if I’m lucky.”
But after a moment he grew excited again.
“It was all a mistake.
Everybody makes mistakes.
And I can’t bear the idea of being pulled in for that, of being torn from my home and habits and everyone I know.”
“And is that the reason,” Tarrou asked, “why you had the bright idea of hanging yourself?”
“Yes.
It was a damn-fool thing to do, I admit.”
For the first time Rieux spoke. He told Cottard that he quite understood his anxiety, but perhaps everything would come right in the end.
“Oh, for the moment I’ve nothing to fear.”
“I can see,” Tarrou said, “that you’re not going to join in our effort.”
Twiddling his hat uneasily, Cottard gazed at Tarrou with shifty eyes.
“I hope you won’t bear me a grudge.”
“Certainly not. But”—Tarrou smiled—“do try at least not to propagate the microbe deliberately.”
Cottard protested that he’d never wanted the plague, it was pure chance that it had broken out, and he wasn’t to blame if it happened to make things easier for him just now.
Then he seemed to pluck up courage again and when Rambert entered was shouting almost aggressively:
“What’s more, I’m pretty sure you won’t get anywhere.”
Rambert learned to his chagrin that Cottard didn’t know where Gonzales lived; he suggested that they’d better pay another visit to the small cafe.
They made an appointment for the following day.
When Rieux gave him to understand that he’d like to be kept posted, Rambert proposed that he and Tarrou should look him up one night at the end of the week. They could come as late as they liked and would be sure to find him in his room.
Next morning Cottard and Rambert went off to the cafe and left a message for Garcia, asking him to come that evening, or if this could not be managed, next day. They waited for him in vain that evening.
Next day Garcia turned up.
He listened in silence to what Rambert had to say; then informed him he had no idea what had happened, but knew that several districts of the town had been isolated for twenty-four hours for a house-to-house inspection.
Quite possibly Gonzales and the two youngsters hadn’t been able to get through the cordon.
All he could do was to put them in touch once more with Raoul.
Naturally this couldn’t be done before the next day but one.
“I see,” Rambert said. “I’ll have to start it all over again, from scratch.”
On the next day but one, Raoul, whom Rambert met at a street corner, confirmed Garcia’s surmise; the low-lying districts had, in fact, been isolated and a cordon put round them.
The next think was to get in contact with Gonzales.
Two days later Rambert was lunching with the footballer.
“It’s too damn silly,” Gonzales said. “Of course you should have arranged some way of seeing each other.”
Rambert heartily agreed.